


Double Bluff

by nottoolateforthegame



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mary was a Baddie, Mutual Pining, Not S4 Compliant, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottoolateforthegame/pseuds/nottoolateforthegame
Summary: Sherlock overhears a conversation between John and his daughter, leading to big changes at 221B.





	1. Cover for Double Bluff




	2. Cover for Double Bluff

“Daddy?”

Something about the tone of Mina’s voice drew Sherlock’s attention to the door connecting his room to the bathroom. He had been having a bit of a lie in this morning, having finally crashed after their latest case closed last night. He had awoken nearly an hour ago to the sounds of Mina and John in the kitchen, clearly trying not to wake him as they went about their morning. He had lain in bed, letting himself drift in and out as he listened to the sounds of John’s quiet murmurs and Mina’s muffled giggles as they ate breakfast. When they had started Mina’s bath, neither had noticed that his door was cracked open, or that he was awake in his room.

“Yes, love?” Sherlock could tell from John’s voice that he, too, had heard the _something_ in Mina’s voice.

“Why aren’t you and Papa married?”

Sherlock’s stomach tensed as he found himself suddenly holding his breath.  It seemed an age before John replied.

“What brought this up, kiddo?” John’s gentle question likely wouldn’t divert a curious Mina, but might buy him some time and give him some insight for how to deal with the question.

“Mr. Hadley’s been teachin’ us about families and everyone shared about their family in class.” Mina’s voice was quiet, too somber for the precocious four year old whose zest for life shone from her very pores. “Avery told me we couldn't be a family if you and Papa weren’t married. She said I can have two daddies, but it didn’t count if they weren’t married!” her voice rose in indignation towards the end of her explanation, but Sherlock could still hear the hurt and fear underlying her words.  Outrage nearly had him leaping out of bed, ready to race to defend his precious girl. But he forced himself to stay still, John’s past lectures on not going overboard in protecting their daughter from the pains of the world echoing through his mind.

“Well. Avery is wrong. We are a family. Families come in all sorts, love. I’m sure Mr. Hadley told you this. Family is who you love. And your Papa and I love you, very much.”

Sherlock heard water moving in the tub for a few moments. He could just picture Mina swirling the water around her, brow furrowed as she thought over what her Daddy had told her.

“You and Papa love each other too, right?”

“Of course.” Sherlock felt his stomach swoop at the acknowledgement, before he reminded himself that of course John loved him, just not in _that_ way.

“Then why aren’t you married?”

Sherlock almost smiled at Mina’s persistence. She had clearly decided the heart of the problem was her fathers’ lacking marital status, and was not going to give up until she had answers. He waited, wondering how John would handle her tenacity. After a few moments, he heard John clear his throat.

“You know how there’s different kinds of love, right kiddo? Like, there’s love for friends-”

“Like Molly!”

“Yes, just like Molly. And there’s love for your family, like Papa and Uncle My love each other.” There was a pause, and Sherlock could only assume John was watching Mina’s reaction, checking to see if she was following along. “People who get married have a special kind of love, a romantic love. They are _in love_ with each other.”

“Like Uncle My and Uncle Greg!” Mina blurted out enthusiastically, clearly eager to show she understood.

For a moment, an image of John and Mary dancing at the reception flashed through Sherlock’s mind, and he felt a pang in the region where his heart resided. He pushed it away. As far as Mina knew, there was no Mary. Or rather, Mary was just a stranger who had birthed her and John and Sherlock had adopted her. Any and all traces of the truth-that her mother was an assassin who had worked with Sherlock’s archenemy, who had nearly killed Sherlock; who, when that failed, had drugged John and nearly convinced him that he had killed the mother of his child and abused his best friend beyond forgiveness, nearly driving him to suicide through guilt and grief-had been erased from existence. They had forged a new beginning for their daughter, including her name.

“Just like.” Sherlock’s attention was drawn back to the present. “Your Papa and I love you, more than anything. And we do love each other. But-” Sherlock could hear John’s deeply drawn breath. “Your Papa and I do love each other, but its different kinds of love.”

Sherlock’s whole world froze at the words. His ears began to ring even as his heart pounded in his ears, drowning out whatever it was John was saying. _Different kinds of love._ **_Kinds._ ** John knew. He knew that Sherlock loved him. Was _in love_ with him. Why else would he have worded it like that? Sherlock knew that John loved him. As a friend. Perhaps in a more brotherly way. But never in the way Sherlock loved him. He had thought he had hidden that from John, had kept him in the dark about the fact that Sherlock not only loved John, but was in love with him and had been for years. Clearly, he hadn’t. John knew.

Sherlock fought the panic that threatened to creep in. John knew. But. John didn’t sound upset. He hadn’t confronted Sherlock or left. Sherlock’s worst fear, that John would learn the truth and leave in disgust and anger, seemed to be unfounded. John had figured it out, somehow. But he hadn’t left. Sherlock could hear Mina’s giggles as she and John began playing pirates with the plastic boats in the tub. Understanding dawned. Of course John hadn’t left. He loved Mina, more than anything. And Mina loved Sherlock. As far as she knew, 221B always had been and always would be her home. John would never do anything to upset Mina’s world, not if he could help it. Instead, he chose to act as if he didn’t know. All Sherlock had to do to maintain the status quo was pretend he didn’t know that John was pretending he didn’t know. Should be easy enough. After all, he had always been far better at bluffing than John.  

* * *

 

John sat in his chair, staring at the computer screen unseeingly. His write up of their latest case (a jewelry thief who had managed to rob several stores unnoticed by replacing the jewels with very believable fakes in broad daylight) was nearly finished, but he had become lost in thought after Sherlock swept into the room and flounced down on the couch, turning his back to the room. He had barely spared a glance at John, who was reminded of their early days together, when Sherlock could ignore him for days on end.

He wasn’t sure what had happened, but things had been off lately. More and more he felt as if a wall had gone up, as if he had done something wrong, as if Sherlock was pulling away-but he couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. Sherlock was just as caring and attentive to Mina as he had ever been. The past few years had been amazing. He and Sherlock were raising Mina together, at 221B. It was more than John could ever have hoped for. After the debacle with Mary, after John had hit rock bottom, knowing that he had been responsible for bringing _that woman_ into their lives, he had been certain Sherlock would never want to see him again. He could never have predicted that Sherlock would swoop into the townhouse John had shared with Mary, declaring that John had ten minutes to pack whatever he and the baby needed to start over at 221B, that Sherlock had already set up a new crib and to only bring what absolutely couldn’t be left behind (later, John realized Mycroft had likely taken the place apart, looking for a trail to Mary’s other life, before disposing of anything left behind). John had found himself at 221B within the hour, baby in her carseat, gun in his waistband and suitcase of clothing and baby items in hand.

Sherlock had stepped into fatherhood as if he had been made for it, the transition back to 221B feeling so natural and easy that John’s worries that Sherlock would tire of having a baby disrupting his life had died a quick death. When Mina had started calling Sherlock Papa (John was sure Molly and Mrs. Hudson were responsible for that one) it had only felt natural. He knew Sherlock had been surprised by John’s easy acceptance of the label, anxiously eyeing John every time the moniker left her lips until John had finally told Sherlock that if he wanted a different name from _their_ daughter he’d have to teach it to her himself.

After that, they had seemed to settle fully into their role as a family (admittedly, an unusual family, but family nonetheless). As the years had passed, they had reached a level of comfort with one another that John had found fulfilling (if a bit frustrating at times). A certain amount of casual contact was necessary in raising a child together, and if the boundaries had blurred a bit further than that, neither man mentioned it. Evenings in often meant putting Mina to bed, putting something on the telly, and sitting on the couch together, sometimes one or the other tucking their feet under the other's legs, sometimes with Sherlock’s head in John’s lap, sometimes simply sitting close enough to touch from shoulder to thigh. Mornings were often a rush of breakfast, getting ready for the day and incidental touches-a brush of the arms, a hand at the small of the back in passing, a ruffle of hair to match the one to Mina’s head. If, on occasion, John sometimes longed for the soft touches to become more, to turn into longer caresses, or if he needed to relieve himself in the shower after spending time cuddled with Sherlock on the couch, well, that was his problem, wasn’t it? He had managed to refrain from revealing the truth of his feelings to Sherlock for years now, in many ways the casual contact helped ease the pain of his unrequited love. He may not ever have _that kind_ of relationship with Sherlock, but he could at least have _this_ ; and this was more than he had ever dreamed.

Lately, though, something had changed. Sherlock was pulling away. At first, John had thought he was imagining it-the slight stiffening if they brushed against one another, the pulling away from any contact lasting longer than absolutely necessary. Then he had thought Sherlock was maybe in a strop, or caught up in a case or scientific problem. But then John began to notice that Sherlock was going out of his way to avoid contact. If John sat on the couch, Sherlock would sit in his chair. Or if Sherlock had been sitting on the couch and John sat next to him, within moments Sherlock would get up with a mumbled excuse about checking on an experiment or Mina. And he wasn’t just pulling away physically. Sherlock was withdrawing into himself, spending more time out of the house, leaving John behind to run on cases, withdrawing to his room earlier in the evenings….

John couldn’t figure it out. As far as he knew, things were as they always had been. They hadn’t had a row about anything. Yes, he occasionally nagged Sherlock to clean his mess, or called him a berk for doing something foolishly dangerous (and Sherlock never could resist a chance to call John an idiot), but that was par for the course with them. He had been carefully replaying the last few weeks, trying to figure out what was causing the rift. But nothing stood out.

Maybe Sherlock had just tired of playing Happy Families with John. After all, it wasn’t as if John had any claim to Sherlock’s time or affection. While Sherlock was just as affectionate and attentive to Mina as ever, he had definitely begun putting the barriers back in place between himself and John. John found himself facing a long held fear-perhaps the truth was simply that Sherlock had finally tired of John.

John took a deep breath, pushing away the wrenching ache in his chest. He should be grateful his brilliant friend was willing to play father to the daughter of the woman who tried to kill him. Facts were, John was lucky to have Sherlock in his life still, much less to be allowed to live in 221B and raise Mina with the man. John just needed to accept the new way things were. He could do this. After all, he had spent years before loving Sherlock without being allowed to express that love through touch-he could do it again.

* * *

“Nana?”

Martha Hudson looked up from the biscuits she’d been sliding off the sheet pan, immediately concerned about the sadness in her darling girl’s voice. Mina had been quieter than usual tonight, but Martha hadn’t pushed the issue, knowing the girl was as reticent about her feelings as either of her fathers. She knew Mina would come around when she was ready, which was apparently now.

“What’s the matter, dearie?” she asked, setting down the tray and taking off her oven mitts as she walked over to little Mina, who sat at the table with a glass of milk in front of her.  Martha rushed to Mina's side as her question seemed to open a floodgate, the girl bursting into tears. Martha wrapped Mina in her arms and picked her up, then took her place in the chair, settling Mina into her lap as she allowed her to cry against her neck. Eventually, the tears slowed and Mina pulled back, scrubbing at her face with the palms of her hands. “Think you can tell Nana what’s got you so upset now?” she asked, tucking Mina's hair behind her ears.

“Papa and Daddy don’t love each other no more!” the girl nearly wailed, eyes welling up again. She drew a deep breath, backs of hands dashing away the new tears. “It's my fault! I asked Daddy about why we weren’t a real family because Daddy and Papa aren’t married and Daddy told me about different loves and he is in love with Papa but Papa only loves him a little only now Papadoesn’tloveDaddyatallandDaddyissoSSSAAADDD!”

Martha pulled Mina close to her again as her wail cut off, rubbing a hand up and down her back as she soothed her with shushing noises. She was going to kill those idiot boys, just see if she didn’t. When Mina sniffled and pulled back again, Martha gave her reassuring smile.

“I’m sure your Daddy and Papa still love each other very much, darling. Why don’t you tell me what makes you think they don’t? ”

“Papa doesn’t cuddle with Daddy on the couch no more. And if Daddy touches him, even if its an accident, Papa gets all stiff and Daddy yanks away like he got shocked, like when we went to the museum that one time and I zapped my fingers and my hair stood up. Only they don’t laugh about it like that time. And Daddy looks at Papa so sad when Papa can’t see him. Its awful and its all my fault. I shouldn’t’a listened to that stupid Avery, but I did, an’ I asked Daddy about it and now him and Papa don’t even love each other no more!” Mina finished vehemently, though by now her voice was getting hoarse.

“Oh, lovey.” Martha ran her hands through Mina’s soft curls, which had been left down after her shower earlier. “Let me tell you something everyone but your Daddy and Papa knows. Those two idiots are very much in love with each other. They just don’t know how to let each other know.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. They have been since long before you came along. I’d bet all of 221 that your Daddy loved your Papa from the very first day he met him. And your Papa probably didn’t understand he loved your Daddy for a long time, but I knew the first time he introduced me to your Papa that he was falling in love with him already.”

“Then why don’t they just tell each other?!”

“Oh, sweetheart. Sometimes people just don’t know how. Or they get scared. So they keep their love like a secret.”

“But why are they actin’ like they don’t love each other then?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want you to worry about it any more. Nana is going to give your Daddy and Papa a good talkin’ to, just as soon as they get home.”

Mina snickered at the thought of her Daddy and Papa getting a lecture from Nana. Somehow, telling Nana about it all made her feel better, and suddenly she remembered that she was supposed to be having a biscuit before bed.

“Can I still have my biscuit?”

Her Nana chuckled and stood, setting her back in her seat. She got two biscuits. Even better, Nana let her go to sleep in her bed, telling her she was going to sleepover at Nana’s tonight. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt Nana press a kiss to her forehead and she could smell Nana’s perfume. A half formulated thought of asking Nana if she could wear some perfume in the morning passed through her mind as she drifted off with a deep, hiccuping sigh.

* * *

Sherlock turned from closing the street door, intending to head straight upstairs. John would need to stop at Mrs. Hudson’s to gather Mina. With any luck, Sherlock could have a cup of tea made and be in his room before John tucked Mina into bed and made it to the kitchen for his own cuppa. Sherlock was worn out after a night out chasing criminals with John, knowing the gap between them had never been wider even as he ached to reach out and touch John at every available opportunity. He had nearly thrown himself at John in the cab on the way home, catching himself just before he dropped his head into John’s lap, a desperate need to curl up against the man he loved and have his hair stroked nearly overwhelming him. He was four stairs up before Mrs. Hudson’s door opened and she stepped into the hall, closing it firmly but quietly behind her.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! John Hamish Watson! Upstairs, right now!” though her voice never raised, the urgency and tone of voice carried as clearly as if she had shouted at them.

Sherlock turned to glance at John, who merely raised his eyebrows and began to follow Sherlock up the stairs. They quickly divested themselves of their outerwear and sat in their respective chairs, while Mrs. Hudson circled the room and turned on all the lights. Finally, she turned to face them, scowling fiercely.

Sherlock’s eyes swept over their beloved landlady, attempting to deduce what could have riled her up so much. Clearly, she was angry at them. Tonight had been no more dangerous than any of their recent cases, they hadn’t ever truly been in any real danger. So, she couldn’t be upset about their night’s activities. He cast about his mind, briefly wondering if he had recently damaged anything that warranted this amount of upset. Fortunately, she began lecturing immediately, leaving no time for them to wonder what had her so wound up.

“You two! I have never in my life been so absolutely angry! I have held myself out of it while the two of you mooned about after one another all these years! It's one thing if you want to make yourselves miserable for the rest of your lives! You!” she turned and pointed at Sherlock “Flirting with that woman! Jumping off that roof and breaking his heart!” She rounded on John. “And you! Marrying that, that-well! You broke his heart just as well as he ever broke yours! The only good thing that came from that disaster was our darling girl! And tonight I had to hold her as she broke down in tears because she is convinced her fathers don’t love each other any more and it's somehow her fault! What were you thinking, telling her that you were in love with her Papa but he didn’t love you the same? And you!” she rounded on Sherlock again. “I don’t know what’s got you in such a strop, but your little girl is convinced the two of you are steps away from hating each other by your behavior lately!”

Sherlock stared, stunned by the tirade, mind attempting to assimilate all she had said. Mrs. Hudson drew a breath, glaring at each of them in turn.

“Oh don’t look so stunned. The only ones you’ve been fooling all this time is yourselves! There’s even a pool at the Met, Gregory was nice enough to let me in on the action.”

Sherlock tore his eyes from Mrs. Hudson and turned to face John, only to find the other man dropping his head and shoulders, every line of his posture reading shame and guilt.

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Hudson.” John’s voice came out quietly. He made to stand up. “I will talk to her, try to fix-”

“You will leave her downstairs, is what you will do! I already talked her 'round, told her I would talk to the two of you so you could sort yourselves out. And that’s exactly what you are going to do. Mina is staying the night with her Nana. By the time we come upstairs for brunch in the morning, the two of you will have fixed this, or so help me, I will call Mycroft and tell him that the two of you have broken his little Mina’s heart.”

Both men stiffened at the threat. Of all the people in little Mina’s life, Mycroft was the one who was wrapped most firmly around her little finger. He had secretly been smitten with her from day one, but ever since she had first called him “My” (her fourth word, after Dada, Nana and Papa), he had given up all pretense of distance and had openly begun spoiling Mina every chance he could. If Sherlock’s response to the girl being hurt could be considered no holds barred, Mycroft’s was scorched Earth policy in comparison.

There was a pediatrician who had found himself up for license review after he had misdiagnosed an ear infection as merely a cold; a janitor at her private, exclusive preschool who had simply disappeared when Mycroft’s minions had dug up a piece of history the school’s (very thorough) background check had failed to find; Mycroft’s ex boyfriend who had found himself out of a job and blacklisted after making a disparaging remark about children while in Mina’s presence once...and those were just the incidents Sherlock and John had been privy to. 

“I hope I’ve made myself very clear.” Mrs. Hudson seemed to soften, the anger and belligerence leaving her posture as she cast another look over each of them. “Its long past time you boys admitted the truth. You deserve happiness.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving the two men to stare after her in stunned silence.

* * *

Sherlock was lost in his mind palace, cataloging the surprisingly subtle changes to everything John related. Mrs. Hudson’s revelation had been less a bomb dropped in his lap and more a blowing away of a film of dust that prevented him from truly seeing what was in front of him. John’s wing of the mind palace had always shone brightly, now everything seemed to have taken on an additional rosy, warm glow that only enhanced what had already been there. He was pulled from his reverie by John, who was pacing across the living room, mid-speech.

“-sorry. I know you aren’t interested in me that way. Mrs. Hudson is a romantic, she doesn’t understand-”he cut himself off, shaking his head. “But-I promise it won’t change anything; it never has. I won’t treat you any differently, I won’t force anything on you or expect anything from you. Just, please, don’t punish Mina for this. She loves you, so much. I’ve made a mess of this, but she doesn’t deserve to lose one father because the other can’t stop loving him.” when Sherlock merely stared in silence, John continued. “Please-I’ll give you all the space you need. I’ll go back to working locum. I’ll, I’ll start dating again. I will take up a hobby or something-you’ll hardly ever have to see me! Just please, don’t throw us out.”

Sherlock stared at John, who had turned to face him, eyes and voice filled with unshed tears. John's left hand was clenching and unclenching around tremors, his shoulders were slumped, his legs braced as if ready to flee any moment, face lifted imploringly towards Sherlock. His expression was somehow both pleading and determined. John looked on the verge of breaking down, and Sherlock realized the idiot man had still convinced himself somehow that what he felt was entirely one sided. Hadn’t he listened to Mrs. Hudson?

Sherlock stood up, strode to John’s side, grabbed his head and angled it up-then kissed him with all the pent up passion and longing he had been holding in check for years. He didn’t have much experience with kissing (or sex-hurried hand jobs exchanged with his lab partner in year 11 the night before said lab partner moved away and a few uncomfortable kisses given out for various (not always good) reasons making up the extent of his experience) but he put every trick he had ever read, seen or otherwise learned about to use. John froze against him long enough that Sherlock was beginning to worry he had made a mistake, when, with a deep groan, John took charge of the kiss.

John’s hands came up to Sherlock’s face, gentle yet sure, angling his head just so. John's lips, which had fallen open against Sherlock’s onslaught pulled back and closed slightly so that he was drawing Sherlock’s lower lip between his own teasingly. Once John had gained control of the kiss, his hands began to wander, one sliding down Sherlock’s back to draw him closer, pressing their bodies together chest to hip, the other sliding into his hair, toying with the curls at the back of his head.

They stood there, in the living room of 221B, pouring everything they felt for one another into the kiss. Sherlock mimicked John’s hold, one arm wrapping around his waist while the other cupped the back of John's head gently, as if holding something infinitely precious. Eventually, after what could have been minutes or hours, John pulled back, drawing a whine from Sherlock’s throat as he tried to chase John’s lips. John dropped his head to Sherlock’s chest and breathed deeply, while Sherlock pressed his nose to John’s hair and did the same.

John lifted his head and captured Sherlock's gaze.

“I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

Sherlock felt his throat clog and eyes sting as the words he never dreamed would leave John’s lips fell on his ears, releasing a weight off his chest he hadn’t realized was still there. The last of his worries and concerns fell away. John loved him. John _loved_ him. John loved _him._ Sherlock realized he was just standing there, staring at John, a foolish grin spread across his face while John was watching him, waiting patiently.

“Oh. I, um.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “John Hamish Watson, you are my conductor of light, my doctor, my blogger. I love you.”

John pulled Sherlock close and snogged him breathless before pulling away again with a grin.

“I want to take you to bed. I want to strip you down and take you apart. I want to touch you everywhere with my hands, then start over with my mouth. I want to bring you to the edge so many times you are positively gagging for it, before I let you come down my throat or in my arse or on my face or wherever you see fit to. Then I want you to wrap those gorgeous, distracting, sexy fucking hands around my cock and make me come. Then in the morning I want to do it all again before we have brunch with our daughter. And then, I want to tell our daughter that she can tell that little shit Avery that her family is just as real as any other, and that she gets to be the flower girl in her Daddies’ wedding. Yeah?”

“Oh, God, yes!”

As they hurried to Sherlock’s room, clothes falling to the floor between kisses and increasingly lingering embraces, Sherlock spared a moment to place a memo to himself in his mind palace to thank Mrs. Hudson for calling their bluff. Then he gave himself over to the sensations of loving, and being loved, by John.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://nottoolateforthegame.tumblr.com/)


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